


Picket Fences

by scheherezade34



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Episode Related, Season/Series 05, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-24
Updated: 2005-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherezade34/pseuds/scheherezade34
Summary: 513 gapfiller.  Possibly a little AU since it was developed from early spoilers.Theyâ€™d had one of their own once; a fake plastic cheap one.  Even as an ignorant kid heâ€™d appreciated the bitter, truthful irony of that fake plastic fence.





	Picket Fences

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Brian awoke.

Everything was black.

Well, that was appropriate.

They’d had their mind-blowing farewell fucks hours earlier. Justin would leave for his plane some time later when the sky began getting lighter.

But now,

It was dark.

Sleep was gone.

Justin was still here beside him, for the moment,. Smooth, warm, each breath huffing quietly. Showered, pina-colada-smelling Justin.

Waking him for another fuck seemed useless. They’d done the farewell fuck bit. And repeats were never as good as the originals.

For example, think about Justin and him. Every time they repeated their living together routine, it seemed to him that their time together was shorter. And their break-ups seemed more absolute.

After all, how much time would it take to establish a career as a great big fucking successful artist in fucking New York?

 

He’d always hated time. Ticking away. 

Birthdays.

Ticking years away.

Tick, tick, tick, timing _fools to dusty death._

Tick, tick, tick, marking time with sound markers _to measure what we’d lost._

Fuck, he hated middle of the night thoughts. 

He’d learned a long time ago never to believe anything he thought after midnight unless he still thought the same in the daylight after at least six hours’ sleep. 

It was one of his survival tricks.

This time though, he didn’t think sleep and sunshine (fucking sunshine) would change a thing.

It was still dark.

Sleep was long gone.

Fuck.

Brian eased quietly out of the bed, and walked carefully in the dark down his new staircase that he didn’t really know how to navigate, to his new kitchen. Another thing he detested; new houses in the dark of night.

He needed a drink. Water would do. Justin would hate alcohol on his breath when he kissed him goodbye. It probably didn’t matter what Justin would hate any more, but he didn’t want to see that blank ‘it’s not worth dealing with’ expression on Justin’s face. 

There’s a thought. If he managed to avoid it this time, he might avoid it forever.

Would that be good or bad?

Fuck knows. 

Logic doesn’t work too well in the black.

Brian yanked irritably at the fridge door and picked out a bottle. 

Rather than turn on a light, he steered himself cautiously into his new living room and opened the curtains. 

 

His new picket fence gleamed whitely in the light from a distant lamp. 

He’d always hated picket fences, too; even when he was a kid.

Just why had be bought a place with a fucking white picket fence? Because everything else was right; and he’d wanted a place that was ready for Justin straight away.

He’d thought about having the fucking thing torn out, but for some weird reason that had seemed cowardly. As though he wasn’t fighting fate, when he’d always had to fight fate.

 

Fucking picket fence was still there, still gleaming.

When he was a kid, he’d hated them. Other kids had them. He’d see them walk inside them in the evening, while he was hanging out in a quiet corner, waiting for a better time to go home.

The kids would walk inside their picket fences and close the gates behind them. The kids would walk up and open front doors with light spilling out, fragments of warm voices drifting out, brief glimpses of well-tended, well-cared for hallways or living rooms.

Then they’d close the door. 

When he was a teenager he’d hated them. He’d count them off, on his way through the night to Mikey’s. He knew exactly how many picket fences he had to pass to get to sanctuary. They’d stand there, gleaming, spiky, rigid. 

Closed.

 

They’d had one of their own once; a fake plastic cheap one. Even as an ignorant kid he’d appreciated the bitter, truthful irony of that fake plastic fence. Jack had got him a couple of times because Joannie thought Brian hadn’t cleaned it well enough to impress the church visitors and neighbors.

They hadn’t stayed behind its false facade long. As usual Jack had decided a teacher or neighbor or doctor was getting too nosey about Kinney affairs. There had followed another Kinney relocation, another Brian Kinney dislocation 

When Brian was older he had worked out that, while he couldn’t change terrible nights, days wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t always having to fit into new schools, new neighborhoods and new fucking churches. He’d learnt how to deflect the do-gooders who had never managed to achieve anything but provoking Jack into moving on.. Jack, no longer troubled by prying officials, had settled into local clubs and bars, and never more thought of leaving his comfortable territory.

After that an almost-peace had spread out over Brian’s days. Especially once he’d found the haven of Mikey’s and Deb’s. 

 

Fucking picket fence ……..

A light in the hall clicked on.

A bundle of duvet topped by silvery hair back-lighted into a halo appeared in the doorway and entered the room.

“I am trusting you so much.”

“nn?” Brian’s voice wasn’t working.

“I am trusting you so much. You have to know that.”

Brian leaned against the wall beside the curtain and looked at Justin tiredly. He didn’t try to speak.

“I just can’t figure out any way we can get this right but to go through it. You do know that, don’t you?”

“I know you have to go to New York if that’s what you want.”

”No. I don’t have to go to New York. I could stay here, with you. Which I also want. And I could deal with not going. But WE couldn’t.”

“We?”

“With me worrying and waiting for you to push me off a cliff some day because you know one of my wants is to test myself in New York; to make my way by myself; to prove myself as an artist. And with you worrying about whether I should be choosing you over New York, whether I’d change my mind, whether you were limiting me.”

“That.”

“Mmm. I know I could deal with the choice I’d love to make. But I don’t think WE’d survive.”

“Sounds …probable.”

“I could have just not told you and stayed here with you, but you know me so well. You would have found out even if Lindsay hadn’t said anything. And if I’d hidden it you would have been sure that you were the wrong choice.” Justin paused and looked up into Brian’s face.

“As if you could ever be the wrong choice.” He wasn’t surprised at the worried look that brought to Brian’s face. “See. Even that gets you doubting yourself. Us.

“So I have to go on with New York. Prove myself. You’ve been there my whole adult life, and I need to know I can stand alone. Make a place for myself in my vocation by myself.

“But you have to understand that the main reason I’m going through with it is because that’s the only way I can see to get back to us. And getting through it and back to us is the really important bit.

“Do you understand the difference, Brian?

Brian looked down at Justin, marveling again at how strong he was. If Justin saw a problem ahead he faced it, decided what he had to do about it, and dealt with it. If Brian had been in the same position he’d probably pretend there wasn’t a problem at all and party on to drown his misgivings 

“Brian?”

“Y-yes. I do.”

 

“So I’m trusting you: not to panic once I’ve gone and start plotting cliffs.”

Brian’s face was shuttered. “Maybe you shouldn’t be trusting me.”

“If you say you won’t, you won’t.” Justin waited, standing firm.

Eventually Brian responded. “All right, I won’t push you off any cliffs.”

“That, too,” Justin replied, “but that’s not the important one. No throwing yourself off any cliffs.”

“You mean no fucking or drinking myself silly? You’ve no right to ask that while you’re going to New York, Sunshine.”

“I don’t mean no fucking or drinking. I mean no destroying yourself with fucking or drinking or anything else.”

Fuck, thought Brian. He doesn’t know what he’s asking me. Go through the next few months, or years, feeling every second. When he’d never done that. He’d always looked for ways to blank out. 

“I’m not sure I know how not to.”

“Then learn.” Justin was adamant. “Apart from anything else, if you’re fucking yourself up here in Pittsburgh I’ll be right back here shouting at you and trying to clean up the mess; and not getting on with my brilliant career.

Justin paused, “I love you, Brian. I won’t be free if I’m worried about you.

“Unless, of course, I stay in New York and give up on you.

“Either way, WE’d be fucked.

“So,” Justin smiled apologetically for turning Brian’s words back against him, “it’s your choice, Brian. You choose.”

 

Brian brooded over his response. 

He’d thought Justin had set himself a long road to travel. It seemed the one Justin had set him could be just as challenging. He didn’t even know if it was at all possible. 

“I’ll try.”

“Fuck ‘trying’. No throwing yourself off any cliffs. Period. You get that much right and there’s a chance the rest might work out. It’s the only way there’s even a chance.”

 

Could he deal with it? 

Brian Kinney never ran away from anything. 

Yeah, right. 

Still, he’d had to fight all his life. That had been easy, though. It had been a case of survival. Fight or go under. But this … well…maybe it wasn’t so…

It seemed like he had to keep on fighting.

“No cliffs.”

Justin sighed in relief.

“But Justin,” Brian’s troubled eyes traveled over Justin’s passionate features, “If you’re thinking you’re doing this for us, you might fuck up New York. You need to have a wonderful time in New York for yourself.”

Justin grinned lopsidedly. “I’ll do my best.”

“I mean it,” Brian emphasized. “You’re a sociable creature. You can’t be the best homosexual you can be without people around you. Relationships.” He screwed up his face at the word, but managed a half a twinkle as he met Justin’s eyes. He went on, “Justin, don’t be some martyr because you’re hanging on to some ideal of ‘us’. If we do make it, great; but we’ve got to go through it first.”

Brian wet his lips. His voice really wasn’t working properly tonight.

“I trust that you want ‘us’ back eventually, but don’t be…. Don’t be lonely in New York.”

Justin’s eyes gleamed in the light from the hall. He swallowed and started to speak, then stopped.

Don’t say it, Brian thought. 

I couldn’t bear it tonight if you said that back to me. It’s different for me. After all I’ve always been ………. Except for Gus and Justin …….

“Fuck!” Justin exploded. “Can’t you think of any other way?”

“No.”

“I’ve tried.”

“So have I.”

In spite of the duvet, Justin shivered.

“You’re cold.”

Justin leaned against him. “It’s warm in bed.”

Brian dropped his forehead onto Justin’s. “Now there’s a thought. You go on. I’ll just draw the curtains.”

He pushed Justin gently on his way, and then turned back with a hand on the curtains.

The picket fence still gleamed outside. He wondered if some other kid somewhere was waiting out the night, watching similar palings. Good luck to the poor fuck.

He closed the curtains, leaving the picket fence outside.

Tonight was different.

For him, tonight was different.

Just for tonight,

..

Wait. …. No cliffs.

..

At least for tonight,

He was on the inside.


End file.
